


Awaiting Orders

by ErraticNeurosis



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Biting, Blindfolds, Collars, Consensual Kink, Dominance, Dominant Sherlock, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, RACK - Freeform, Scratching, Waiting, submissive John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:39:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErraticNeurosis/pseuds/ErraticNeurosis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All things come in good time, and John is prepared to wait, even if it means waiting on his knees. John and Sherlock are both a little desperate by the time he makes it back to the flat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awaiting Orders

**Author's Note:**

> These characters are not mine, but I am glad that they share their sexiness with the world. Comments and reviews much appreciated =). Submissions are totally welcome, who doesn't love making a fantasy become reality?

John loves the waiting almost more than the actual sex. It’s like foreplay but so much more . . . delicious.

 

He’d known Sherlock was planning something this morning because of the smirk on his face when he’d said they wouldn’t be eating dinner so he shouldn't bother ordering anything. When John came back from the clinic Sherlock was perched on top his chair in his usual thinking position. Nothing strange there. What was strange was how _loose_ Sherlock was. He always seemed like a bundle of poorly contained pure energy, right now he was almost predatory. Not for the first time John thought of panthers and feral eyes glinting in the dark when he looked at Sherlock.

 

There was a rustle of silk as Sherlock’s dressing gown shifted around him. He stood next to the coffee table and glanced down pointedly. John felt his pulse quicken when he saw the thick collar resting on a stack of magazines. A heady little rush of anticipation ran through him. He knew what tonight would bring him.

 

“I expect you to be waiting when I get back.” John’s heart skipped a beat. Sherlock didn’t usually, but sometimes he would go out and leave John in the flat until he was ready to play with him. It was like Christmas.

 

“In your bedroom, Sir?” John heard his voice slip into the soft tone he only ever used when he was wearing the collar. Sherlock said he sounded pliant, like he was begging to be controlled. John headed towards the stairs.

 

Sherlock didn’t look back from where he was wrapping a scarf around his slender, gorgeous neck,

 

“No, in here.”

 

John’s cock stiffened slightly and he couldn’t help his little intake of breath. Sometimes when Sherlock was in the middle fucking him he would talk about leaving him to wait where anyone could see him. About using him in alleys or empty parks. John had always assumed that it was just heat-of-the-moment dirty talk.

 

Now he’s kneeling in the middle of the living room floor, blindfold snug across his eyes and the air cool on his bare skin.

 

The second John had heard the front door of 221B slam closed he’d gone up the stairs two at a time and stripped as he quickly as he could. Then he’d folded his clothes and neatly put them away (military habits die hard, and he liked to image Sherlock ordering him about, chastising him for being messy). Once back in the common room, blindfold in hand he’d slowly buckled the collar around his neck. Savoring the leather between his fingers. It was his favorite gift he’d ever received. Just wide enough to remind him to keep his neck straight and a lovely deep russet shade of brown. The buckle sat at the back with a single metal O-Ring at the front, no studs or grommets, just smooth leather.

 

Three days after the night Sherlock gave it to him he still hadn’t been able to sit without feeling a twinge of soreness. A month or two later John bought a matching leash. He hoped he would never forget that night either.

 

John knew his thoughts were wandering but it was hard to concentrate with the physical representation of Sherlock’s hold over him around his neck and the knowledge that anyone could walk into the flat and he wouldn’t know who they were. He was kneeling facing the door, he wanted Sherlock to see him all laid out like a present, so he could unwrap him.

 

John felt his length thicken a little at the thought of all the ways Sherlock could take him apart. Over the past few months they’d done more than John had done in all the years previous to Sherlock combined. He hated being bored and that usually translated into experiments and sleepless nights and even a few weekends in the countryside at hotels that took cash with their cell phones switched off.

 

During these moments where he couldn’t see the world around him, all there was, was Sherlock. The memory of Sherlock’s hands on his body, of his tongue, of his cock deep inside him. The promise of _more_.

 

Sometimes John was so aroused and lost by the time Sherlock came home he had to punish him just bring him back from his headspace. John had never met someone who understand pain and pleasure like Sherlock.

 

The minutes ticked by and John felt the muscles in his legs start to stiffen. He wasn’t worried though, he knew Sherlock couldn’t wait long, and that he would stretch him back out once he got home. Even the pain in his muscles couldn’t stop John from drifting off into his own thoughts. He almost doesn’t hear the footsteps on the landing or the door creaking open. John immediately feels himself stiffen and come to full hardness. He knows he isn’t exactly young anymore but Sherlock _does_ something to him.

 

“Oh John, you’re such a good boy aren’t you?”

 

This was a little unusual. Usually Sherlock was quiet and commanding, only speaking when giving orders or when he was so close to coming and he couldn’t keep silent. There is the sound of fabric hitting the floor and footsteps trailing closer to where John kneels a little to left of Sherlock’s chair. John lets his head fall back a little, exposing his throat. He wishes he knew why he was so submissive with Sherlock. He just knew he wanted him to have _everything_.

 

“So lovely and hard for me.” John doesn’t reply. If Sherlock needs to hear his voice he will tell him.

 

John can feel Sherlock stop just in front of him. He feels his fingers thread into his hair and twists his neck further back. John smells alcohol and understands Sherlock’s unusual chattiness.

 

“John I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I just can’t decide what to do to you.” John sighs softly. A warm feeling spreads through him at hearing that he fills Sherlock’s thoughts.

 

“You’re so beautiful like this, waiting for whatever I want.” He strokes a finger down the side of John’s neck, flicking the ring in the center of the collar.

 

“At first I thought I would flog you, you know how I love your little squeals. You’re so sensitive.” John bites his lip as Sherlock circles a finger around his niple.

 

Sherlock chuckles at John’s sharp intake of breath as he pinches his nipple, twisting it gently. He rakes his nails down John’s chest, stopping at the base of his cock. John’s mouth falls open slightly and he imagines how dark Sherlock’s eyes must be right now. He wishes he could see him. John loves it when Sherlock’s entire focus is on him, when his eyes burn against his skin. It’s like John is the most beautiful, fascinating thing in the world and Sherlock wants to memorize every detail of him. It’s intoxicating.

 

“I just can’t decide John. So tell me, what do you want? You’re already dripping for me.” It’s true, John can feel his cock leaking precome down his shaft.

 

John gasps and leans forward, wanting to feel Sherlock against him. He’s so hard. Practically aching to be touched. He can barely think, let alone decide how he wants Sherlock. He wants him _inside_ him, he wants his hands and his words and his punishments.

 

His face meets Sherlock’s shoulder and he turns his head, rubbing against Sherlock’s neck.

 

“Ah ah ah John, you know the rules.” John whimpers a little, he knows he isn’t supposed to touch Sherlock without his permission but he’s been waiting so _long_.

 

“Please . . .” John breathes against Sherlock’s neck.

 

“Please what?” Sherlock twists his fingers back into John’s hair and pulls his back slightly. Then he leans down and licks down John’s neck, sucking and biting across his collarbones. John doesn’t try to hide his moans.

 

“Please just touch me.” John flinches as Sherlock’s teeth sink deeper into his skin. He doesn’t break the skin but John relishes the knowledge that he’ll have a bruise. He’ll have to wear one of Sherlock’s scarves to hide it.

 

John feels Sherlock’s hands slide across his hips and settle on his ass, then pulls him forward lips brushing against his jaw. Sherlock groans softly when John erection brushes across Sherlock’s trousers. John can feel how hard he is through the fabric.

 

“God you know have no idea what it’s like. Knowing you’re here on your knees. I think about what you’re thinking about, what you’re _feeling_. I can barely breath just imagining you here like this.”

 

Sherlock’s hand trails over John’s cock while the other squeezes his arse tightly. John’s arms are shaking slightly with the effort of keeping them crossed tightly behind his back. Tonight is different and he doesn’t want to break the spell. He presses his lips lightly against Sherlock’s neck, moving up to his jaw line.

 

“Let me touch you. I want to take care of you.” John whispers to Sherlock. John can feel the tremble in Sherlock’s fingers as he runs them across John’s crossed wrists. He moves his other hand from where it rested on John’s hips and gently wraps his fingers around his cock.

 

“I can barely stand it, just having you _here_ with me. I think I’ll fall apart if you touch me.” Sherlock pulls John’s hands from behind his back even as he speaks, placing them on his chest. Pulling them together tightly.

 

“Oh god yes.” John fumbles across the fly of Sherlock’s trousers. He briefly considers taking the blindfold off but decides against it. He doesn’t know how, but Sherlock’s voice is even sexier when he can’t see him.

 

John can feel Sherlock gasping, his chest rising and falling against his rapidly as he slides his pants down.

 

“ _Fuck_.” John tightens his grip around Sherlock’s length and massages his thumb across the head of his cock.

 

“Tell me how you- _ah_ \- want it. Want to make it perfect for you- _christ_ \- you’re so hot.” What little of Sherlock John can feel is burning up. You’d think looking at all that pale skin he’d be cool to the touch but John has all found him to warm and unbearably soft.

 

“Want you closer.” Sherlock huffs against John’s lips before pulling him into a rough kiss. He bites John’s lower lip savagely, almost as if to remind him who’s in charge. John makes a little whining noise and falls against Sherlock.

 

They both gasp against each other’s mouths when their cocks brush together. John’s precome smears across his knuckles and Sherlock arches his back, pushing his cock further into John’s grip. John loosens his grip and Sherlock makes this lost little moan in the back of his throat.

 

“Sh, shh, just let me. Oh _god_ , there it is.” John manages to slide his cock perfectly against Sherlock’s and even though he can’t fully close his fingers around them the friction is so perfect. Sherlock wraps his arms John, pulling himself into John.

 

They haven’t broken their desperate kiss and John can feel Sherlock smile as he sucks playfully on his tongue then nips at his lip. John’s breath stutters, he’s so close precome dripping across his fingers. He wishes they’d taken the time for lube so he could really stroke Sherlock, but he doesn’t seem to mind. John shudders as Sherlock’s nails dig into his shoulder blades.

 

“Are you-close-bloody hell please tell me you’re close.” Sherlock purrs into John’s ear, voice low with just a hint of a growl in it. John nods tightly, not able to catch his breath enough to speak.

 

“Good.” He pants, twisting his nails deeper into John’s flesh, dragging them down his back. John goes limp relishing the pain. John lets out a little shout when Sherlock slaps his ass and the rhythm of his hand around their pricks stutters.

 

“God just bite me again, I’m almost there.” Sherlock laughs breathlessly and dips his head down to John’s neck. He sucks on his pulse point lightly, continuing to drag his nails across his skin. John arches and twists, trying to get Sherlock to really dig into him without losing his grip on their cocks.

 

Sherlock continues to tease at John’s neck and back. John feels Sherlock’s cock harden and drip precome across his own prick. He knows Sherlock gets off on how much he loves the pain he gives him. John moans a little louder and gasps his name into Sherlock’s hair.

 

John starts to slowly thrust his hips with the rhythm of his hand. Sherlock hisses as John’s massages his fingertips across Sherlock’s frenulum. John tightens his grips and moves just a bit, feeling heat pool in his stomach. That hot shivery feeling of _so close_ spreads through him.

 

Sherlock trembles, and finally digs his teeth into the skin between John’s shoulder and neck. John can feel Sherlock’s nails leaving welts on his back and comes shaking in Sherlock’s arms. Come spurting through his fingers and slicking Sherlock’s cock. John slumps lower against Sherlock’s chest and strokes him as fast and tight as he can.

 

“Oh John. God-oh christ.” As Sherlock comes he slips his hands back down to John’s arse and pulls their cocks back together. He fingers slide teasingly across John’s hole and he feels his cock jerk, trying to come back to full hardness.

 

Sherlock slides them to the floor, gasping. John feels Sherlock straddle his hips and lift his hand to his mouth, he groans when he feels Sherlock begin to lick their come of his fingers. John slides the blindfold off and he has to remind himself not to moan when he sees how positively pornographic Sherlock looks.

 

He’s flushed, full lips wrapped around John’s fingers. His tongue darts out and swipes some come of his palm and John wonders how he ended up with someone so fucking sexy. His eyes are just as feline and dark as John fantasized. John smiles softly when he sees how frizzed up Sherlock’s curls have become. He knows it annoys Sherlock, but he can’t help but think it’s adorable.

 

John knows that Sherlock is going to ask him to come to the bathroom so he can inspect his welts and make him take a warm shower with him but for now he just wants to watch Sherlock. He just wants to absorb this moment.

 

“What are you thinking?” Sherlock whispers as he continues to suck John’s fingers clean.

 

“Just how hot you are all sweaty and come-covered.” Sherlock stills and leans down, caging John in with his arms.

 

“Liar.”

 

“Fine. I was thinking . . . how I wouldn’t mind too much if this never ended.” John closes his eyes and leans upwards, pushing their foreheads together.

  
“That’s impossible . . . but I agree.”


End file.
